Fizz ease

CHAMPAGNE, like teeth whitening or a new hairdo, is among life's little luxuries.

We reach for it in the happy tombola of life: when we have something to celebrate, or when somebody else is having a corporate jolly.

Right now, if you believe the gloomy headlines, all that cork-popping-out is, well, out.

But could you bear to exchange your bling for Boots, resorting to a three-week wine making kit, a tube of Pearl Drops and a L'Oreal box of hairdye if Mr Wolf came knocking at the door.

You might consider it, but not if you live in Herbert's world.

In the celebrity crimper's bubbly bubble, where the curls tumble faster than City bank shares, the champagne flows against the tide and will continue to do so.

Liverpool's most famous hair teaser, has just opened “Champu”, an exclusive champagne celebration lounge, for exclusive champagne celebrating people.

Why? Because you're worth it.

Already Champu has brought tears of joy to the eyes of senior execs at Laurent Perrier, wondering if this “world first” is the answer to their prayers in a climate that's brut.

“My whole aim in launching a champagne celebration bar is to make special occasions – such as birthdays or anniversaries – more special in these economically difficult times,” explains H as we tuck into an olive.

Confidential has already walked the red carpet and has peered shyly inside Herbert's new Beetham Plaza parlour. It spots a lavish granite and marble enclave that seats just 40. It is festooned with zebra stripe stools, deep lounge chairs, muted lighting and heady tiger lilies.

Outside “The Buckets” are cascading an endless stream of water. Inside, an endless stream of fizz is similarly passing through a gathering of hacks. They are in their cups, and French sommeliers are on hand to refill them.

What is not to like about the look of this lush carry on?

“Don't drop that glass, it's worth £95,” hisses Barry Turnbull, he of the Business Post, as our operative is handed a specially made Dartford crystal flute.

Rodrigo, Confidential's mate, has turned up in a big woolly cardie. “If this was a proper night you wouldn't be allowed in dressed like that,” briskly announces Mr Howe, the impeccable mauve suited one, surveying us.

“And you wouldn't be able to stay longer than 90 minutes, either,” he adds.

Oh?

“That's the maximum time anyone is allowed in here. And everyone has to wear a jacket.”

Rules, rules, rules! But, Herbert, 65, owner of a pink Rolls Royce and who started off as a grocer's boy in Stoneycroft, confides: “I wouldn't be where I am today without being strict. I am like that with my hairdressers, but I'm cheeky too.”

Conversation bubbles, and soon turns to the popular topics of the day: 12-year-old Alfie Patten, surely a boy with something to celebrate, is going to join Fathers for Justice. He has the Spiderman suit already.

A cynic in our number ventures that at £62 for the cheapest bottle of bubbly, a non vintage Veuve Cliquot Ponsardin Yellow Label, and £325 for the 2000 Louis Roederer Cristal vintage, you might not be able to outstay your 90 minute welcome even if you wanted to. “Do you get injury time? Cigarette time?” one quips.

But Champu, clearly, is not for this sort of riff raff. You start the evening there, raise a glass, and a waiting limo whisks you off to your restaurant (er, the U'n'I, in our case).

Ever the hairdresser, Herbert insists you make an appointment.

“You wouldn't be allowed to stand around like this on a normal night,” he shakes his head. “Everyone has to sit down.”

“I mean look at the fingerprints already on this bar.

“Dane!”

Dane is in charge of things. “I'm Herbert's right hand man,” he tells us. He holds the keys to the locked Cristal cupboard and the cleaning cupboard, and ensures things run smoothly, even getting rid of smears on surfaces.

As Dane reaches for the Mr Muscle, turning his back on the unopened magnums of rose (£130) for a second, Rodrigo, Dingle opportunist, suddenly finds a new use for that cardie.

By the time Herbert shows us to our coats, everything, like the fingerprints, has been polished off.

Talk about warm and fuzzy.

Like what you see? Enter your email to sign up for our newsletters which are chock-a-block with more great reviews, news, deals and savings.

Hardly the time to be laying down daft rules to people prepared to put money into your till.Whoever did his PR needs shooting - not so much a local footballer or a bit of Hollyoaks fluff.It'll be Gangsters' Paradise if he's lucky. Empty if he's not.

For your information Mr Feathercnut, I have never set foot in Heathcotes, I was carried in straight from the Yates Blob. And what's more I'll have you know that I am a close friend of Jennifer Ecclescake and the girls from Bubonic Kitten.

Onlooker from the Echo, you are right these ranters on here are a miserable bunch. What's wrong with a little bling and fun I say. these are worrying times and if we can forget about our woes with a little champers and good company then where's the harm. I for one feel very silly thinking any of these people were supposed to be celebs, it's becuse i was upset reading the other comments and i thought i had missed Jim Bowen and Nicholas Parsons. And you wouldn't catch him with skidmarks - Knickerless Parsons.

In the first place, with a bottle of The Widow at £62 (about £50 in a suburban pub, £32 in Tesco) Champu isn't that expensive. In the second place banning standing drinkers with avoid the bar getting blockaded by old men with no necks and avoid people sitting in corners or booths being walled in by intimidating gangs of guffawing, scally chumps rocking on their heels and acting macho.

Jimmy Corkhill (yet again) ex soap star and little else now local radio. Billy Butler MBE and all that tired old stuff and Roger (how could you?) Phillips. Remind me again a gathering of celebrities? Celebrated by who exactly? No idea who the others are. Poor Herbert, at least he has a go. But unfortunately it is appallingly tacky and shallow which may or may not reflect the needs of the target clientelle. What a sad reflection on the modern world this is. people so besotted with themselves that they feel they have to ride around in slapper wagon limousines and guzzle over-priced over-rated piss that goes pop in order to apply some kind of meaning to a meaningless ephermeral existence. Poncing around trying to forget the skidmarks on their drawers last night, that for a moment reminded them that they are not extraordinary examples of humanity after all. God Bless 'em

Is the Herbert for Mayor camapign still going? Herbert wouldn't do stupid things like drive people out of town by making them pay for parking, and upsetting everyone. Go on people, vote for Herbert for mayor and a brave new pink and fluffy world.

If the photos are anything to go by I can see the bling and champers, as for the good company..... Sorry, sorry, just another ranter being miserable. It is 8.35am after all. Give me a chance to wake and cheer up.

I can't see the standing rule lasting long. It's only a matter of time before the champers fad runs it's course and the door policies are relaxed and they stock more ale than just champers. Or maybe it'll have 1 bar for the pubic and 1 for the appointed champers quaffing fnar fnarers.

Ay, I'll tell yer what, I'll have to stand to drink if i go in. The way my Nobby Styles are at the moment if I sit down I'll be chewin' Herbert's tiger print cushions all night. You know wharra mean don't ya luv?

It doesn't look very busy - and that's with the free champers... what's going to happen when people have to actually pay for a drink themselves mmmmmmmm we shall see!Good luck any way Herby, and how dare they, the common people, put fingerprints on your bar, i wouldn't bloody let them in at all if i were you!